Temptation
by Alternate Ego
Summary: You know...there is nothing as tempting as a locked door. Rodney's POV. Shweir.


A/N: Written in response to the WPBA forum's sentence starters challenge: number 527, 'You know...there is nothing as tempting as a locked door'. (Check it out, peoples, they're fun.) Kind of a sequel to my other story 'Not Blushing', but you don't need to have read it.

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Temptation

by Alternate Ego

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You know…there is nothing as tempting as a locked door.

A door, any door, stands for the choices and paths in our lives; at the slightest, most insignificant decision, one door may open while another closes. The open door, beckoning for one to pass through, and the closed door, denying entrance, are both tempting and intriguing; but the locked door most of all. Mankind has always pushed against constraints, strived to seek out the confidential, know the unknown, taste the forbidden fruit. And the locked door is the epitome of this.

Which is probably why I've had so much trouble with them.

I encountered my first locked door when I was six. My mother had dragged Jeannie and I over to our maiden aunt's house. Even at that young age, I knew I despised Aunt Sue. She was too – gushy, for lack of a better word. The first thing she would do when she saw us was pinch our cheeks and squeal over how we had grown like weeds. I always wondered, why weeds? Adults were constantly trying to kill weeds – bad comparison, if you ask me.

But I digress. On this particular visit, I managed to escape Aunt Sue's coddling and began to wander around her large, three-story house. I got lost. Not surprising, considering I was only six, and I was boxed in a 5,000 square foot house. I kept opening doors, hoping that one of them would lead me back to the living room (even though I would have to endure more smothering affection and a scolding for running away, to my six-year-old mind that was still be preferable to being stuck wandering Aunt Sue's stuffy, mothball-scented house for all eternity).

In any case, all the doors lead to closets or rooms except one. This door, unlike all the others, was locked. In addition, it was painted a plain brown and bore no overly-fancified engravings. It immediately attracted my attention. Although I realized that it could not possibly lead to the living room, as it was too bare (and besides, the dining room door hadn't been locked) I didn't pass it up. Instead I decided to open it.

I took out a pin from my pocket, which had been used to attach some money to its inner lining (despite my vociferous objections, my mother still insisted on using the pin as if I were a four-year-old) and promptly employed it as a lock pick. I had the door open in less than three minutes.

And inside I found – drum roll, please – a wardrobe. Inside that? Locks of hair. It was quite strange, seeing dozens of locks of hair, a rainbow of different colors, straight, wavy, and curly, all lined up in neat little rows. Needless to say, I was let down. I had been expecting something along the line of Blue Beard's closet full of dead corpses. Had I known that these were all souvenirs from Aunt Sue's many, secret lovers, I would have probably been more interested. But I didn't know, so didn't care.

For better or worse, it was precisely at that moment when my mother and aunt found me, staring disappointedly at the hair. I say better because Aunt Sue never invited me over at her house again, something that infinitely pleased both Jeannie and I. I say worse because I was punished by not being allowed to have dessert for a week. (Harsh punishment, considering that week we had chocolate cake. Needless to say, I suffered irreparable damage.)

My second door was a little more dramatic. I was sixteen and enduring the horrors known as high school. I was staying after school, helping my calculus teacher by wiping off the boards, not out of a desire to actually help but because I wanted to avoid meeting any jocks. They all hated my guts for being two grades ahead and having an IQ three times theirs.

After spending a considerable amount of time loitering around in the classroom, I took my backpack and left, warily checking the hallways for any danger. Nothing; they were deserted. I set off towards the exit, only to stop as I heard the sound of a girl's voice around the next corner. Looking past it, saw a closet door close quickly, but not before a caught a flash of a blue-colored skirt that looked suspiciously like Jeannie's.

Frowning, I walked to the door. I almost called out, but stopped myself. After all, it might not be Jeannie…but if it was, what was she doing in there?

Sighing, I tried the door. Locked, of course. Not much of a problem there, though. I had it open in a minute.

And there, I found the lead cheerleader, _not_ my sister, purchasing drugs from one of the jocks. Unluckily, he didn't believe my assurances that I would tell nobody. I went home that day with several large bruises and a broken nose, not to mention the threat of death hanging over my head.

That wasn't the last of the doors, however. I had numerous other encounters with the damned things, such as the unforgettable one in Russia involving a gangster, a dead body, and a mime (…don't ask). Not to mention that one with the Genii – although technically it was a hatch, and it wasn't locked.

But still, considering my track record, you think that by now I'd have learned to stay away from the locked doors. I guess not.

Walking down the hallways of Atlantis, I stopped in front of the new lab I'd been exploring. But the door didn't respond to my open command. Frowning, I muttered, "What the hell?" and opened the control panel. Within seconds I'd overridden the lock and voila, the door opened – to reveal Elizabeth Weir and Colonel John Sheppard, entwined in a rather – intimate – embrace.

I gaped, dropping my laptop in my shock. This wasn't kissing – this was some serious sucking face.

The noise of the fallen laptop snapped the two out of their absorption with each other, instead turning their attention to me. I gulped. John glared. Elizabeth blushed.

"Well – if you don't want to be interrupted, find a better way to lock the door!"

--End--

A/N: I won't ask you to **review,** because I know you are all _wonderful _people who usually **review** automatically. Plus, if you wanted to **review** you would do so without my asking you, and if you don't want to **review **then my asking probably won't make you. So. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. :)


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